


Heatwave

by DoctorSyntax



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dom/sub, Established Relationship, F/F, Roleplay, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorSyntax/pseuds/DoctorSyntax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A girl walks into a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heatwave

**Author's Note:**

> For the salt-burn-porn prompt of "absence makes the heart grow fonder."

From her seat at the bar, Gwen's at the perfect angle to see everyone who walks through the front door. Nobody interesting so far, but she's only been here about ten minutes; she's not even finished with her first drink. Someone will come along.

Light from the street spills in, momentarily backlighting the figure coming inside. And what a figure it is, too. Slight but definitely feminine, legs to die for. As the door swings shut behind the girl, Gwen gets a better look at her. No amount of sophisticated makeup can hide the girl's youth. Gwen would put her at twenty-two, twenty-three at the oldest.

Young, but not too young. For a brief moment Gwen wonders if she's a street worker, considering the lace-topped black stockings that come to mid-thigh and somehow stop at least three inches short of the world's shortest gray pleated skirt. Her black top plunges down too low, revealing a good deal of wonderbra-assisted cleavage, and the hem rides up high enough to show off washboard abs begging to be tasted.

Looking the way she does, it's surprising that she doesn't get served the minute she sits down on the opposite side of the bar. Hell, Gwen's shocked that she doesn't immediately get approached. Up close, she can get a better look at the girl, and she's a knockout. Blonde hair a wild tumble of curls just past her shoulders, sweet come-drown-in-me brown eyes.

Definitely Gwen's type.

The girl tosses Gwen a look and then moves her gaze elsewhere. Gwen can't tell if she's uninterested or just pretending to be, but she's ready to play it one way until it turns out to be the other. Draining the last of her glass, she throws a couple bills on the bar and heads over to where the girl's sitting. There's an empty stool beside her, but Gwen doesn't take it.

"You must be looking for trouble," Gwen says confidently, leaning up against the bar.

The girl looks over at her with a coy smile. Doesn't even seem surprised. Probably heard it all before. "Can't a girl just be out for a drink?" she asks, innocent tone belied by the flutter of her thickly-mascaraed eyelashes.

"Not looking like that."

Gwen's directness at least surprises a laugh out of her. "So I'm looking for trouble? Or—" she unsubtly appraises Gwen, and lets her voice drop when she likes what she sees—"did trouble just find me?"

"How about I buy you a drink, and you let me know."

"Can I make a suggestion?" the girl asks, and as she leans in she lets her legs fall open another few inches.

Gwen's breath catches for a half-second. She knows exactly what the suggestion is, but she still has to ask. "What's that?"

The girl scooches in like she's divulging a secret, warm breath on Gwen's skin. Half an inch and her lips would be on the most sensitive part of Gwen's neck. "Let's just skip all the small talk," she suggests, "and get out of here." She nudges the tip of her nose against the underside of Gwen's jaw and then ducks down to press a quick kiss in the same spot.

And, hell, Gwen isn't about to argue with that. "Follow me," she says, and registers with mild surprise the perfect obedience her order elicits. It's possible she's only seeing it because she's looking… but maybe, just maybe, her instincts are one-hundred-percent on about this girl. It's worth testing, in the least.

The nearest exit leads out into a deserted alleyway about half a block from where Gwen parked her truck. She moves off in that direction, but the girl catches her wrist, pulling them close together for a kiss. Immediately Gwen takes over—the girl may have initiated it but Gwen's sure as hell going to be the one to finish it; she's got a theory to test. The girl doesn't completely yield, but there's a looseness to her muscles that suggests she will, if Gwen plays her cards right.

When they come up to breathe, she realizes they never exchanged a crucial piece of information. "Hey, so, I'm—"

"Sh-sh," the girl says, pressing a finger to Gwen's lips. "No names, baby. It's better that way." She speaks with confidence and a flirty little smile that must get trotted out for every occasion.

Gwen thinks she might be in way over her head. "You do this often?"

"Maybe," the girl says. "Would it be a problem if I did?"

Something almost as ugly as jealousy takes hold of Gwen. Before she can stop herself, she sneers and takes a step back. "Just wondering if you're always this much of a cheap little slut." As soon as the words are out of her mouth she wants to take them back, but then she sees the way they've set the girl's eyes to glittering. Not angry. Not insulted. Turned on.

Oh, _yes_. Gwen's instincts were spot-on about this one.

"I'm not, actually," the girl says, tone low and a little breathy. "I have this girlfriend, see, but we both travel a lot."

"Open relationship?"

"Not a bit." She's as shameless as the way she's dressed. Every inch the little slut she's pretending she isn't.

"So she hasn't given you permission to do this?"

The girl doesn't answer, chin lifted defiantly as if to say _I don't owe you anything_. It's a good look for her, sexy and infuriating all at once. Gwen lets it get to her, spins the girl around and lifts her skirt roughly. No panties. Color Gwen shocked. (Not.) "You know what happens to cheating little sluts?" she asks, and instead of answering the girl rolls her hips to give Gwen better access. She's got her legs spread, arms braced against the side of the building, and her bare ass popped up like she's modeling a swimsuit, all without a single word of instruction from Gwen. 

The girl turns her head to look over her shoulder at Gwen, and it's all there in her eyes, a chaotic swirl of desire and _please, please_. She's begging without ever having said a single word.

A powerful rush courses through Gwen's body with that, and Gwen lets it. Her palm connects with the girl's backside with a satisfying whack, and she can feel a transfer of energy in the resulting sting. Instant gratification feedback comes in the form of a moan the girl doesn't seem to be able to suppress, ratcheting the charge between them up a notch or two, and Gwen slips a little further into instinct. Sound and fury. Slap after rhythmic slap melts into a familiar cadence until her hand smarts, tingling with the energy that's flowing between them. The connection, though powerful, isn't quite enough. She wants more, and the angle makes that difficult.

The minute Gwen stops, the girl whines quietly from the loss of contact. _Yeah_ , Gwen thinks, feeling it just as keenly. _Me too_. But what she says is, "Bend over. Hands around your ankles." She's not sure where the cool, composed tone of her voice came from, but she likes it and she likes using it.

More pliant now, the girl obeys. In her ridiculous heels, she wobbles a little, but Gwen steadies her with an arm around her waist and flips the skirt up again. "Good girl," Gwen approves, letting her hand caress the pink, raw skin. Her girl lets out the tiniest of whimpers. "You've learned your lesson, haven't you?"

With her legs braced wide, everything the girl has is spread just for Gwen. Flushed red and slick and oh-so-vulnerable. It's a heady sight, and Gwen can't quite stop herself from reaching out to trace the lines of the girl's pussy with her thumb-tip.

"Yes," the girl gasps out, but Gwen doesn't believe her. Two sharp, quick slaps—one on each cheek—are the punishment for that. The girl flinches, but with Gwen's arm around her waist, she doesn't lose her balance.

"You're lying, slut," she murmurs, "but I'm feeling generous tonight. We're going to get caught if we don't get out of here soon."

From the hitch in her breathing, Gwen can tell that her girl likes that idea. She likes it a lot. 

"Is that what you want?" Gwen coos, caressing the girl's backside, trying to keep the heat and color up. One slap. "You want someone to see us—see you bent over like a whore for the first girl to pay you the slightest bit of attention?" She doesn't get an answer, but she's not expecting one. "Might as well give them a real good show then," she continues, moving her hand lower.

The girl's as hot on the inside as she is on the outside, slick around Gwen's finger and the kind of tight that immediately invites more. A second finger joins the first. A quiet gasp is the girl's only reaction, but it's more than Gwen needs. She slips her fingers out partway, rubbing a couple shallow strokes back and forth against a cluster of nerve endings before pulling them out entirely. The girl responds with an unconscious movement of her hips, seeking Gwen—technically, she ought to be punished for it, but Gwen chooses to let it slide this time.

"Do you want to come?" she asks, fingers finding the girl's clit, circling it slowly. Her girl makes a noise and nods her head.

"How do you ask?"

Stubborn to the last, her girl doesn't answer right away. Those gorgeous blonde locks hang over her face, so Gwen can't make out her defiantly proud expression, but she's bone-sure it's there, and that it wants tearing down.

"How do you ask?" Gwen repeats, pressing a little harder. It's the little things that are the most telling. The shifts in her breathing; the slight, involuntary movement of her hips; the way her legs are shaking under the strain of the way she's been asked to stand. If her girl can't break through her pride and ask for what she wants, _soon_ , she's going to come without Gwen's permission. And a whole other part of the night—one Gwen hadn't planned out—is going to have to begin.

She'll ask. Gwen's confident. "Come on, baby," she coaxes, as on-edge as her girl even though nobody's touched her.

And then she hears it—quiet, but firm. "Please."

"Please what?" she insists. Her fingers pick up speed, just the way her girl likes it best.

A deep breath. "Please, may I come?"

Still, it's not quite right. Not quite enough. "Is that what you want, slut?"

"You know it is," her girl begs, voice broken with want. _Finally_ , there it is. Satisfaction courses through Gwen in a flood of adrenaline. She's high on it, feeling magnanimous, so she hands down like a royal proclamation,

"Come when you're ready."

It's all the girl needs, crying out like she's shaking apart, and Gwen briefly laments that she didn't leave her fingers inside to feel the flutter and contraction of the girl's orgasm around her. But that thought gets quickly pushed aside as the girl's legs give out from beneath her and it's all Gwen can do to steady her before she plants face-first into the ground. When the girl lets go of her ankles without asking, Gwen bites back the knee-jerk urge to reprimand her. It's over. Time to slip out of one persona and into another.

Gently she helps Jo straighten up—it's a hell of a position at the best of times, and Jo's coming off a week-long hunt, her hamstrings are probably screaming bloody murder—and catches her when she wobbles. She tips Jo's face up for a quick kiss, and Jo's blown pupils and blissed-out expression tells Gwen her girl's still got both feet firmly planted in subspace. They're not leaving for another couple minutes, probably longer, so Gwen shifts slowly until she's leaning against the wall of the bar to make supporting Jo's weight easier. Jo nuzzles against her, operating purely on instinct, and Gwen caresses her with solid, reassuring touches, focusing all her energy on making Jo feel safe and cared-for despite their shady surroundings. Regretfully she thinks of her truck, where there's an oversize fleece-lined hoodie for Jo, who's always cold after they scene. They were supposed to make it that far, but the best laid plans of mice and men…

She's not sure how much time has passed when Jo makes a small noise and lifts her head. She kisses Gwen on the cheek, murmuring thanks. Gwen's not sure what it's for—for this night or for not letting her fall or for letting her go solo on a hunt just to prove she can—but she appreciates it more than she'd thought she would.

"I missed you," Gwen tells her, unable to keep the words in, and Jo beams. 

"Me too." Her expression's a little fuzzy still, but more lucid than before. She's fucked out and sated, but more or less back on planet Earth. Gwen figures it's probably okay for them to get moving, and hoists them both upright with a theatrical groan.

"Let's get you home, baby."

Jo makes a noise of assent before snuggling a little closer into her body, and Gwen smiles to herself, maneuvering them both toward the street where she's parked. She's not sure if Jo drove, but they can pick up her car in the morning. One more thing to add to the list.

The morning will bring a lot for them. First, probably, they'll talk about how Jo's hunt went. Gwen's not looking forward to admitting that she hated letting Jo go alone, but she knows she will. She's not sure if they'll fight; that's up to Jo and what she wants, what she learned this past week. Eventually they'll move on to how the scene tonight played out. What worked and what didn't. Whether they want to do something like it again, or if the once was enough. 

That much discussion and negotiation can exhaust Gwen more than a hunt. She knows it does the same to Jo, but it's a necessary evil.

But that's tomorrow. She'll cross all those bridges when she gets to them. Right now? She's got her girl. She's not worried about a thing.


End file.
